Strings
by Magna Dementia
Summary: Why did I let him go?    Intended to be a story but will be left as a oneshot if I keep suffering from a severe lack of motivation.


"God damn it, Kazuma!"

An open bottle of wine, half empty, struck the wall of the darkened room with enough force to put a hole in the cheap sheetrock and shatter the bottle, its contents leaving dark, raspberry colored stains spattered over the carpet, furniture, and walls. Honestly, he didn't even know where in the hell he'd gotten wine from, but he didn't care. Alcohol, in whichever form it happened to manifest itself, was still alcohol. And alcohol, regardless of quality, price, name, form, country, bottle, shoe-size, was really the only thing that could come even remotely close to easing the pain. And that only made it hurt worse. Whether it was helping or merely giving the illusion of helping, it was the only thing he had to cope with the aching pain in his chest.

"Why? Why?! Why do you always have to be so fucking selfless?! For once in your life… can you be selfish? And just… take what you need?"

Up till now, he had been standing. But now his knees hit the floor, followed closely by his hands, where he kneeled there, crying. Crying would be an understatement. He had started out crying but had degenerated into a state of simultaneous choking and sobbing. But with a lot less energy than when he had started out with, because up until now he had been in a state of simultaneous crying, being absolutely and utterly miserable, and drinking (with a lot of emphasis on all three) for the past several hours. He had also yelled at himself and thrown things at other things in anger and misery. Indeed he had been, for the floor around him was littered with empty, half-empty, half-full, and empty-and-crumpled cans and bottles of aforementioned alcohol. Plus there was the hole in the wall, which contained large pieces of the wine bottle he'd thrown into it earlier. The hole, coupled with the stains, meant he would not be getting the security deposit on his apartment back.

His shirt was damp, particularly around the sleeves where he had been wiping his face while crying. Every light in the small, single room apartment was extinguished. The luminescent display of the digital alarm clock on his nightstand indicated that it was 11:23 at night which meant that it was thoroughly dark outside as well. That suited him just fine. Being as drunk as he was made light pretty much intolerable and as he was currently heartbroken light was not all that appealing anyway.

Tired of kneeling, he thumped onto his side with his eyes closed, the tears finally ebbing away slowly, accompanied by sniffs and hiccups and the occasional deep, shuddering breath, as exhaustion overwhelmed him. Before falling into that dark abyss known as sleep he thought of the one who had unintentionally, unknowingly, caused him so much pain.

Dark ebony hair that seemed as though it ought to be made of the finest of all silks, but he'd been too afraid to touch.

Deep, chocolate-brown eyes, so stunningly beautiful that his heart skipped a beat, no, two, when they met his, eyes he could no longer meet for fear of his own betraying him.

Gorgeously tanned skin, made even more tempting by the scars that trailed across its surface from many a battle won and occasionally, lost. Skin that looked as soft and satiny as a jagged piece of oyster shell, made smooth by many years pounded by the ocean and polished by its sands. How he longed to touch it, to trace those scars.

His scent that was so incredibly intoxicating that it drove him crazy. He couldn't stand close anymore.

A voice, taunting and teasing, that made his heart thunder to listen to it and sent a delicious wave of shivers down his spine. It was too much.

And those lips… lips that he wanted nothing more in this world than only to taste them. But he didn't dare. He wasn't worthy. He never would be.

There came a time not long ago when he could no longer look at, listen to, touch, or even be in his presence for fear of going over the edge. So he began avoiding him, staying away at all costs. He knew the other man would never understand, let alone accept, his feelings (who would?) and he didn't want to hurt him. But his greatest fear was rejection, disgust, and hatred because of those feelings.

He had been followed, tentatively at first, then relentlessly, being questioned as to what was wrong, why was he acting this way. He became angry, yelling words that he didn't want to say. 'Go away!', 'Leave me alone, damn it!', 'Why can't you quit bothering me?', 'I never want to see you again!'', and finally, 'I hate you!' When really he was begging him, 'No… don't go… please, stay here with me… please, please don't leave me… I love you.' The words he couldn't say.

He was crying again, lying there on his back, the tears rolling silently down his face as a new wave of agony swelled in his chest and gripped him by the heart.

And now… he was gone. Forever. He'd had a chance. One last chance to tell him. But he'd stepped back and let it slip quietly between his fingers. He would never get another one. He would never be his. They would never be together.

And that was the way it was supposed to be.

The one he loved.

"Yusuke."

Sleep claimed him.


End file.
